The Wolf at Night
by TheInvisibleGurlz
Summary: The Batfamily may not be the most open to outsiders, but they never keep secrets between each other. Until the one night they find out one of them did. Nightwing's a werewolf, and no one else knew, before tonight. Yeah, this is gong to be BAD. NOW A RHATO-YOUNG JUSTICE FIC.
1. The Wolf at Night

**The Wolf at Night**

 **A.N.: This came to me, one day, and I just couldn't say no to it. After watching the beginning of an episode of Being Human and hearing about how, in the show, werewolves experience organ failure while changing, I wrote this. Enjoy!**

The night air was cool on their faces and sweet on their noses. At least, that's the way it was to Batgirl. As for Nightwing, she wasn't so sure.

They'd been out since before dusk, a parkour training thing that Batman had put them on. Dick had been okay then, but now that night was falling, he seemed anxious to get it over with, tapping his foot or finger between jumps to the next building.

He groaned lightly, rubbing his temples.

"Headache," he complained. She frowned as she noticed how pale he was.

"Do you think you can make it home okay?" she worried. He'd had a few seizures a couple weeks ago, to the point where even Batman had been hesitant to bring him for training a month later, his overprotectiveness made all the more valid by the fact that Dick had gone missing recently. Even now, he was only out under the condition that he and Barbara stay together.

He nodded, making an excuse that he didn't think it was another fit, but that he had to get home before his fever got worse, and hopped nimbly to the road, Batgirl watching him go.

And then he screamed and dropped, writhing, to the ground.

"Nightwing?" she gasped. "Dick!"

She followed his path onto the asphalt, bounding from her crouched landing to his bucking body and whimpering voice. His eyes were glazed as he looked straight ahead. His form twitched, shivering sickeningly in a half-fetal position as he lay on his side, hands halfway to clenching his chest.

"Dick?" She fretted. "Dick, talk to me." When he didn't answer, she made a "valiant" attempt to get his attention, but stopped short when it only made him scream again.

"Batman!" she all but screamed into the communicator. "Nightwing's sick!"

 _"What's happening?"_ Bruce replied, desperation tinting his usually authoritative tone.

"I-I don't know exactly; it's not like any of the seizures he was having. He's in a lot of pain; we need medical assistance, _now_. We're near the corner of…" She ran a few steps away to check the street signs, much to Dick's continued whining. "Parks Drive and Recreation Way."

 _"We'll be there in five. Let me know if anything happens."_

Dick must've gotten really out of it, because he barely acknowledged her when she returned to his side, stepping behind so she'd be out of the way in case he started flailing. Already, it looked like the fit was getting worse; the shivering was interspersed with jolts of pain, making him buck forward, breathing harshly through gritted teeth.

His hair was soft between her fingers, slipping through them as she stroked the ebony strands and whispered meaningless comforts in his ear. It seemed like the petting was helping; at least he wasn't flinching like when she'd tried to hold his hand.

After the longest 5 minutes of her life, Batman and Robin finally showed up, the latter watching helplessly while Bruce ran diagnostics.

The man seemed at a loss for words; a good thing, too, because words were moot, at this point. Barbara was pretty sure she could never string a sentence together to describe the frantic, spiking lines on every screen. Dick's heart was beating at 240 and climbing. His temperature was at 115 Fahrenheit.

"Dick," Bruce charged on, grabbing hold of Nightwing's shoulder before he gasped at the contact.

"Talk to us," he insisted. "Try to tell us what's going on."

He tried - he really did - but the second he opened his mouth, he was emptying his stomach all over the street, followed up by another agonized howl and whimpering. That said, Barbara was a bit more concerned with a more frightening sound.

The _bweep-bweep-bweep-bweep_ sound of the computer warning them that Nightwing was going into cardiac arrest.

The weird thing, she noticed, as Bruce was turning him onto his back for CPR, was that the rest of Dick apparently didn't notice his heart had stopped. He was still breathing - hyperventilating, actually - and whining. And, if she wasn't mistaken, she'd also heard him pant out a "No!" just before-

"AAAAAGH!" he screamed, again, rolling back onto his side and clutching his chest before settling on his back, again.

"What's wrong with him?" she demanded,

"I don't know," Bruce admitted. "It's no seizure. He's experiencing…Multisystem organ failure;" Dread dripped into his voice as the computer started beeping again, letting them know that his lungs, liver, and kidneys were shutting down. Nightwing started hopelessly gasping like a fish for air. "He should be _dead_ , yet he's still alive and even present for all of it. He…" he leaned in to whisper to Batgirl. "He might not get through this. It's a miracle he's made it _this_ long." Between them, Nightwing had started arching his back, teeth clenched so hard she worried they would crack.

Evidently, Robin had had an epiphany, because he suddenly dashed to his brother's side, catching himself before he touched him.

"Dick," he pleaded. "Dick, whatever's causing this, are you fighting it?"

"You think it's some sort of transformation?" Bruce inquired. He sounded somewhat doubtful, but Dick nodded, tears streaming from underneath his mask.

"Dick, fighting it is gonna kill you. Whatever it is, just let it happen." Dick looked like he was trying to reply; trouble was, pulmonary arrest made for a man of few words. The most he could do was mouth words and hope they could read his blue lips.

"'Don't'?" Tim thankfully understood. "Don't what? Don't _look_?" Dick nodded again, a shiver running through him while he clamped his mouth shut.

"We're not just gonna leave you!" Barbara exasperated. In reply, Dick jolted before curling into himself, waving a hand to tell them to ' _get OUT of my FACE!'_

Immediately - almost before that agonizing pang - Tim turned his back, covering his ears. Bruce followed suit, walking a few steps away, but, Barbara noticed, not before setting the removable med scanner in his glove near Dick, who either hadn't noticed it or didn't care.

Finally, his masked eyes met hers. She could see the desperation, the _'turn around so I don't die'_ on his face, and before she could really think about how bad of an idea it was, she was staring down the alley, Nightwing out of her sight, but never out of mind.

She heard a rustling behind her, and saw his mask and one of his boots scooting across the pavement.

Apparently, Nightwing had found his voice. If he had been in pain before, she marveled at the kind of suffering he must have been enduring, now. She _really_ should have covered her ears, like Tim had. Not only could she hear his every scream and sob, she could also hear squishing organs and crunching bones.

Thankfully, she _couldn't_ hear the computer beeping, letting her know that, at the very least, his heart had restarted. He wasn't dying anymore.

Although, you'd probably have trouble convincing him of the same.

He was screaming like she'd never heard him before. Screaming like he was being put through Hell, itself. Screaming like Zsasz or The Joker were gouging out his eyes.

And then he wasn't. She could still hear the bones and everything, but his voice had just...stopped.

Did she dare? He already took off his mask and shoes; she could only imagine what else he might've stripped off. Besides, she'd kind of promised to let him do this in private.

But, at the same time, maybe he was almost done? Or what if the sudden silence meant he'd stopped breathing again?

Swallowing her fear, she chanced a look over her shoulder.

 _Bad idea._

Stiff, black hairs were creeping over Dick's nude, blueish-skinned figure, now bent on hands and knees with his vertebra-pocked back contorted inhumanly high. His mouth opened like he was screaming, fangs stretching out from his porcelain teeth, but he didn't make a peep as one of his knees bent backwards with a disgusting _crunch_ , followed by the other one, making her sick just to watch as he stood on hands and feet.

Another crunch, and he - it? - was clutching its throat, dog-like whimpering left in place of Nightwing's husky voice.

She couldn't - just _couldn't_ \- stand to see him like this. Couldn't even think about it. She wished for anything, _anything_ to distract her from the horror happening behind her, not three feet away.

She found solace in the sky, in the stars, but only for a second. It was when she noticed the full, shimmering moon that she had her own epiphany, maybe the same one Tim had had.

Dick was changing - taking on decidedly wolf-like features, at that - under a full moon. And it had only started at nightfall. Did that mean? Could he be?

She shunted the idea aside. It was ridiculous.

 _But was it, though?_

Finally, like a gift from the heavens, the whining and crunching stopped. Batgirl turned fully, taking in the scene as best she could.

Bruce and Tim had already turned around, and were surveying the situation just like she was. Off to the side, Nightwing's clothes had been scattered about, lying and wrinkling on the asphalt. The medical scanner seemed to be intact, at least, still blinking its light.

And then there was the wolf.

It just stood there, big and black with burning amber eyes, fangs and teeth bared as it backed towards her, hackles raised against Bruce and Tim.

She let out a squeak when it got a bit too close for comfort, and the wolf turned towards her, lowering its head in... shame? Fear? She couldn't tell.

Either way, it noticed Bruce's attempt to get close, and dashed past her, disappearing around the corner. They tried to follow, but it was out of sight. Gone.

* * *

His eyelids felt almost as heavy as his head, but Dick forced them open, anyway.

He was staring up at the wooden ceiling of his room in the mansion. He couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. On one hand, he was at least comfortable; the bed was a definite improvement over the grass and dirt he'd woken up on, last month. On the other hand, he distinctly remembered changing in an alley, so this meant he'd definitely been found out.

Oh, _CRAP._

They saw. He'd tried to hold it off, but, like an _idiot_ , he'd also tried to keep up with training and had gone until moon rise. And even though he'd tried to get away…

Man, he was so _stupid_. He had an entire month to prepare, figure _something_ out, and what had done? Squandered it. Focused so hard on getting back to normal and sweeping it all under the rug that he hadn't even _bothered_ to make sure he could get somewhere safe for the full moon.

And then they'd seen him, _watched_ him change before their eyes. Watched him fall apart and be stitched back together like some demented _Frankenstein's monster_.

Though, to be fair, they hadn't really watched. The more visible changes were the last to come, and they'd all turned around by then.

Still, this was something never wanted to drag them into. It was bad enough the first time, and then it'd been in private. He'd never thought it would happen with them watching so soon.

A page turned on his right, startling him. He rolled over, his sore _everything_ forcing him to take his time, and idly noted Barbara's near-silent "Oh, thank God."

"Good morning," she chimed, trying and failing to be nonchalant. She set _The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood_ back on his nightstand.

"Morning," he groaned, stretching his left arm towards her before letting it hang limply off the bed, not missing the fact that she shrunk away when his hand got too close. She didn't say anything for a second - which suited him fine, seeing as he was already exhausted - but then she must've decided that it wasn't awkward enough.

"Sleep well?" she added from her new position, her back to him as she admired the trophies and trinkets on his dresser.

He groaned, slowly shaking his head. "Pulled an all-nighter, I think."

As if that sentence alone had flipped a switch, the air became so heavy he was surprised he could still breathe. Neither wanted to be the one to bring _it_ up.

"So you…" Barbara swallowed, looking over her shoulder. "You really remember everything from last night?"

He shrugged, wincing when his aching muscles protested. "No, but I can gather."

"Are you a…" she blurted before she caught herself. He stared at her as she turned her back on him again, refusing to even look at him.

"Am I a what?" he sighed. Might as well stop beating around the bush.

"A werewolf," she whispered, eyes finally meeting his, big and afraid, probably of pushing the wrong button. He nodded, face a solemn mask.

"Are you scared?"

"No," she replied, nodding her head _'yes_.' "You don't scare me." He nodded slowly, and then groaned as he rolled onto his back, again, lip curling against the pain.

"What hurts?" Barbara demanded, pity in her voice.

"Everything."

"Was last night your first time?"

"Second," he answered, sitting up, stretching, and frantically pulling the blanket back over his lap. Barbara smirked, but thankfully pulled open his chest of drawers and got him some clothes.

"I'll be right outside," she added, swaggering out a moment later.

His every movement felt like his muscles were ripping off the bone, but he got up, anyway. And if he were honest, he was glad of the opportunity to move around; it helped stretch out his stiff joints, at least.

Those same joints popped and cracked painfully as he stood, making his way towards a hot shower.

* * *

As promised, Barbara was waiting right outside the door for him. As he emerged, clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants, clean, and feeling _worlds_ better, she walked with him to the kitchen.

"How's everyone else holding up? I know I must've put you through Hell, last night. Which reminds me, actually: how'd I get back here? I doubt if I'd have come on my own."

"Uh, you ran off, once you'd changed. Bruce had us running around all night, trying to find you; he thought you'd hurt someone."

"Did I?" Barbara shook her head, and Dick breathed a sigh of relief.

"No one that we know of was hurt, thank God, but we were still worried. I finally found you around dawn, passed out and - Um - Au Naturel, let's say. As for the first question, we've been kinda sweeping it under the rug. That said, Bruce seems kind of ticked, so you might want to tread carefully." Dick nodded, pressing his lips together at the very idea of Barbara seeing him in birthday suit.

"Are you even hungry?" Barbara spouted. Dick turned to her with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm starving, why?"

"It's just...I'm pretty sure you ate this _massive_ buck, last night, so I figured you wouldn't have a big appetite." Richard allowed a small laugh.

"I'm pretty sure the transformation _alone_ was enough to make me hungry, not to mention whatever else I did. How big was the buck?"

"12 points!" she laughed, waving her arms about her head like antlers. "I had half a mind to keep it for you!"

It felt good to laugh, thought Dick. At least with Babs, he didn't have to be serious about this. He could actually joke.

But that mood fizzled and died the moment he entered the kitchen, his light heart replaced with discomfort and fear.

Tim was sitting at the table, fork hovering over his eggs and toast as he stared with wide eyes at his brother. Bruce either hadn't noticed his arrival or was completely ignoring him as he poured milk into his coffee.

"Good morning," he greeted. He'd been hoping for some sort of reaction, just to get it out of the way, but the closest thing he got was Tim's small and time-delayed, "Morning," as he returned to breakfast.

He could feel Tim's eyes on him as he walked past the table, taking out a mug. Bruce had yet to acknowledge him, which might have been a good thing, actually. The air was still icy and suffocating, despite Bruce having left his side to put the milk away.

That air went from ice to explosive when the elder _SLAMMED_ the refrigerator door, making Dick jump, turn, and _finally_ meet eyes with the man.

Bruce said nothing, just glared daggers at his son with a curled lip. He approached, fire in his eyes, bashing into the younger's shoulder as he grabbed his coffee before leaving the room like a hurricane.

For a moment, all he could do was stare after the man, shock and hurt dripping down into his stomach. His eyes trailed to Barbara, who was giving him a sad and sympathetic look, and then to Tim, looking just as stunned as he felt.

Dick sighed, trying to push the scene from his mind, and returned to his coffee, pouring it despite his lost appetite.

He flopped into a chair caddy corner from Tim, running a hand through his hair. Babs took the chair on Dick's left, at the end.

"He'll come around," she said, gaining Dick's attention. She had that look again, which somehow only made him feel worse.

"It's not the coming around I'm worried about; it's how long he'll hold this grudge," he replied, wrapping his hands around the mug, never drinking from it.

"I don't think it'll take too long," Tim interjected. "He'll figure out he's being a jerk, sooner than later, probably. Don't let it get to you; for that act _alone_ , you're better than he is, werewolf or not." He got the sense Tim had regretted those last words, but he found that they'd actually done him some good.

"Thanks guys," he replied, a small smile on his lips.

"So, uh, did you know that...what happened last night would happen?" Tim stuttered.

"Depends on what you mean," Dick replied, shrugging. "I pretty much knew I was going to change, but I didn't think it would happen with you guys around, no offense."

"None taken, but I meant about the organ failures. Did you know about that beforehand? Was last night your first time changing?"

"Ah. Last night was my second time, and no, I didn't know everything would just conk out, like that. I don't really know much about the whole deal, to be honest."

"What was your first change like?" Tim pressed. Barbara's serene face fell a fraction, probably assuming that that had been a bad line of questioning. To an extent, he figured, she was right. But it wasn't like he was keeping it a secret from them anymore, was it?

"A lot scarier," he admitted. "I'd only been bitten, like, the week before, so I really didn't know what was happening. Thought I was high, actually," he explained, a wry grin on his face. "Or overdosing. Blacked out, and when I came to, I was in the woods at the edge of Bludhaven."

An understanding nod was shared by the three siblings, But Tim just had to keep running his mouth.

"Who bit you? Was it a wolf? A person?"

Dick shrugged, getting more and more uncomfortable with all of these questions.

"I don't really know, to be honest. I was chasing a gang member, and he ran into the zoo, where I lost him. And then, when I was leaving, I was attacked from behind, bitten on the back of the shoulder. Couldn't really tell what the bite looked like, let along the person."

"Was the bite what caused the seizures?"

"I think so. I don't know why, but I'm pretty sure there's a connection."

"But it didn't get infected?"

"Well, _obviously_ , it was infected," snapped Dick, wishing Tim would just _shut up_. "But not, like, pus oozing and all that. I _was_ sick after changing, though."

"Sick how?" The camel's back gave a sickening crunch as the last straw finally broke it.

"What do you mean 'sick how?' Weak, ill, vomiting, couldn't walk for days, had to go to the hospital, that's 'sick how'!" he finally exploded, standing up and pushing his chair back.

For a moment, all they could do was stare at him as he fumed, but he forced himself to reel in his anger.

"I'm going back to bed," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose against the oncoming headache. With that, he fled the room, his coffee sitting on the table where he left it.

* * *

The headache had definitely come, now, only getting worse with Batgirl's approaching footsteps.

"Hey," she said, slowing from a jog to a walk to keep up with him. "I'm sorry about them. Like I said, none of us really know how to react. And all in all, you have to admit it was better than it could have been."

"That's hardly an excuse," he growled, refusing to drag his eyes up from the floor he was glaring at.

"It's not an excuse," she said. "Just an explanation."

"A poor one," he added. "And I can understand wanting to know more - I can even understand being angry - but there _is_ a line!"

"A line we can't uncross, now," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Look, I know all this'll get under your skin, but you don't have to keep taking it out on-"

At long last, they'd reached his room, giving him the opportunity to cut the conversation off and slam his door in her face. From the other side, he could hear her small, disappointed "us" before she walked away, undoubtedly crestfallen.

He pulled his shirt off, not caring to put it in a hamper, nor caring about Barbara's hurt feelings.

He caught his reflection in the mirror, and turned to study his back, reminded of what he'd told Tim.

The small scabs that remained pulled his skin as he stretched the shoulder where the bite had been. Scars remained where the other scabs had finally fallen away, the raised lines mingling with the rest of his scars.

He mused, not for the first time, on the odd shape of the wound. It was far too narrow to be human, and too wide to be a dog. The teeth were inhuman, but also not deep enough in the fangs to be canine.

He sighed, tearing his eyes away from the mirror as he shrugged off his sweatpants and flopped onto the bed, the cold covers cooling his warm skin.

He crawled back under the covers, wryly noting that he still hadn't eaten anything, and yet doing nothing to fix it. Sleep found him almost instantly.

* * *

The door slid open to the batcave, a tall, thin man gliding down the stairs with grace, despite his age.

"I believe you owe Master Dick an apology," Alfred said crossly.

"I don't _owe_ him anything," Bruce replied, dark fury in his voice. The elder was reminded of the Bat's teen years; he was so angry. So defiant. So self-doubting and scared. And now, Richard was the same; he could see it in his eyes.

"He could've hurt someone, last night," Bruce continued. "He could have hurt one of us. If he'd _told_ us in advance, all of us would have been more than willing to help him, but because he didn't-"

"Has it occurred to you, Master Bruce, that this reaction is the very reason he may not have made his situation known, in the first place?" Bruce glared at him, a tactic that he knew would never work.

"So it did not occur to you that Master Dick may have been afraid of this response to a state over which he has no control," the man plowed on. "Did not occur to you that he may still be very new to his own condition, and did not occur that, now that his fears have been realized, _you_ have struck a blow from which he may never fully recover. That you may have even made him less inclined to learn more, since even the people he loves most have cast him out."

"If he loved us, he should've trus-"

"Trusted you? Did he not trust you when he allowed himself to change in your presence? Did he not show his feelings when he trusted you to care for him in a time of true need? And how did you return the sentiment? With a knife in his back."

"He's the traitor here, not me!" Bruce was on his feet now, yelling in Alfred's face.

"He believed you would continue to love him and show support in the face of fear and pain. But, rather than continue to be his father, you've pushed him away like a diseased _thing_! Is _that_ not a betrayal?"

Bruce drew in a breath to yell again, but as the butler finished his speech, the fight left him and he sighed in defeat. Alfred would have smirked, if he hadn't been so infuriated.

"You will go up to him and apologize," he threatened. "Or, so help me, you will be cleaning this mansion yourself."

He stalked back up the stairs, But Bruce hung back for a moment, still unwilling to apologize.

Finally, he swallowed his pride and made his way up to the kitchen. Hopefully, Dick would still be there.

But, when he got to the kitchen, all he found was Barbara and Tim, the former looking sullen, the latter annoyed as he scrolled through his phone.

"Where's Dick?" he asked, gaining their attentions.

"He went to bed; I think he's still pretty tired," Barbara answered. He nodded, noting her almost robotic tone. She always spoke like that when they'd had a fight.

"Did he say anything about what happened? If it had happened before?"

"He said it was his second time," Tim replied, returning to his phone. "And that he'd gotten sick, the first time. Guessing that's why he went missing: he said he was in the hospital."

Bruce left without a goodbye, rage writhing in his stomach like a coiled snake, again.

Alfred had suggested that Dick was still new to being a werewolf. That he may have been just as surprised as they all were. He'd been wrong.

Dick _knew_. He'd known for at least a month and had done _nothing_ and told _no one_ , without a care in the world for how it might affect the people that loved him. Counted on him.

He marched through the halls, a scowl on his face as he headed for Dick's room.

* * *

 **(A.N.: Warning: swearing incoming)**

It was the air that woke Dick: an air of anger and hatred, smelling of dank caves, blood, and sweat.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Bruce's voice growled from beside him. Nightwing, in response, rolled over to turn his back on his "father."

"Dick," he roared, standing and shaking him by the shoulder. "Dick, you owe us an answer!"

" _I DON'T OWE YOU SHIT!"_ he screamed, twisting his body to sit and grabbing the hand off his arm.

"I didn't need to tell you shit. I _still_ don't need to tell you shit. And now, you're not gonna _get_ shit. Now get out!" He let go, Bruce taking a step back.

"You could've put the entire city in danger-"

" _GET OUT!_ " He reached over to his nightstand and grabbed a clay dish, throwing it at the man and scattering loose change over the floor.

Batman glared for another second before turning and slamming the door behind him.

Dick rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow so no one would hear him crying.

 **A.N.: Let me know if you'd like to read another chapter, and I might just write one. Until then, thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	2. Daylight

**Daylight**

 **A.N.: You give someone 6 reviews in the first 24 hours, and they just have to update, don't they? Enjoy!**

Dick sighed as the sound of something resting on his nightstand pulled him from his dream. His foggy mind cleared as he looked up and noticed Barbara, of all people, standing over him, hand hovering by a plate.

"I… remembered you said you were hungry...and you didn't eat anything, so…" she stammered, refusing to meet his eyes. He could feel the uneasiness rolling off her, undoubtedly thinking he'd just blow up, again.

"Thanks," he murmured, sitting up and cracking his neck.

"I'm, uh…" He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry for snapping earlier. You're right: it isn't fair of me to be like that."

"I forgive you," she said, shaking her head 'no,' again. "You still have to apologize to Tim, though." He nodded, wondering if Tim would be as forgiving as Barbara was.

"Did Bruce talk to you?" she asked out of the blue, making eye contact for only a fleeting second, before seeming to steel herself and maintain it.

His brow furrowed. "Bruce?" Barbara nodded.

"He came up and asked for you. I figured he wanted to talk, y'know? Reconcile." He scoffed at this.

"He came, sure, but it wasn't to reconcile."

"What happened?" Sympathy laced her voice as she sat on a chair next to him, making it at least an octave higher than normal. He shrugged, yawning and flexing his tongue for a reason he couldn't describe.

"He yelled at me; said I should have told you and that I'd put the city in danger." He laid down again and folded his hands behind his head, trying to push the argument out of mind. "In hindsight, I probably _should_ have told you guys. Would've been less of shock."

"You had your reasons," she immediately replied. "You weren't - _aren't_ \- obligated to tell anyone unless you want to."

"Thanks," he said, smiling softly.

His stomach growled when, upon his next inhale, the scent of bacon, eggs, and sausage made his mouth water. He sat up again, biting civilly into a piece of bacon before moaning in delight and shoving it and next two into his mouth at once.

Barbara watched amusedly for a moment before resuming conversation.

"What _do_ you remember from last night? I mean, there's got to be something." He shrugged, simultaneously shaking his head.

"Don't even remember changing all the way," he replied with his mouth full. He swallowed and continued. "I blacked out partway through. Next thing I can remember is waking up, here."

"Did you try to remember after the first time?"

"Oh, yeah." His words were garbled; he had his mouth full, again. "Not much else to do while I was in the hospital, but I didn't get anywhere." Barbara hummed in thought.

"Maybe you should take a walk around the woods you woke up," she supposed. "We should see if you marked out territory, there."

"Why would I care about territory?" he asked when he came up for air. She shrugged, ignoring how he started stuffing his face again..

"I just think it'd be useful to have a specific place to change. Unless people typically camp in those woods, it'd be perfect for you." Dick grunted, mouth too full of sausages to reply. He swallowed part of it before speaking again.

"People _do_ camp there, though. Not as deep in as I was, but it's still a little too close for comfort. Besides, I really don't care about it."

"Well," said Barbara, standing and stretching her arms as high as she could. "If you find out another wolf is on your turf, and you throw a fit, don't say you weren't warned."

"Probably won't even know if I'm _on_ my own turf or not," he quipped, shoving fried eggs into his mouth. Barbara didn't reply - other than to bid him goodbye as she left the room - so he continued stuffing his face.

* * *

"Hey, Tim," he said, approaching the teen's desk. Tim glanced up from his computer before redirecting his eyes.

"Hey," was all he said. The air crackled with uncertainty.

"Listen," Dick blurted, sitting on the bed and facing perpendicular to Tim. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. It wasn't right of me."

"I have a theory for why you had seizures before your first change," Tim replied, still refusing eye contact. Dick was taken aback, for a moment.

"Lay it on me, then," he said, shrugging.

"The transformation put you through an..." he paused, searching for the right word. " _Ungodly_ amount of punishment, right? And, even you wouldn't be able to survive organ failure, under normal circumstances. But, you _did_ survive. Hell, you didn't even lose consciousness when your heart stopped! That indicates something happened inside you that would allow you to survive that. Probably some changes in the brain."

"So you think those changes caused the seizures?"

"Maybe. The thing is, any hospital and probably any newspaper would know if there was a phenomenon consisting of a week of chronic seizures and then multisystem organ failure. But there's nothing in the news or hospital records, so the seizures were unique to you. Without evidence, I'd hazard a guess that it's because you were bitten so late in the moon cycle. If werewolves only bit each other on full moons, you'd have a month to let your body prepare to handle the organ failures. Since you only had a week to change, the chemical imbalances coupled with irregular activity in the brain as your body frantically tried to protect you. I'd also guess that you were sick after the first change - but not now - because you weren't quite _done_ preparing. Not only did you have to finish changing, you also had to recover."

Dick nodded slowly. "Makes sense," he admitted. "I'd be up for a PET scan, if it'll help. Thanks." Tim was silent, still focused on the screen, and Dick's small smile fell. He left without a goodbye.

* * *

Dick sighed as he stared up at the ceiling from his bed.

Three weeks had passed.

Three weeks had passed, and things at large had gone to the dogs.

Barbara had gotten more and more skittish around him, flinching every time he got too close and going pale when he spoke. He could understand why she'd be cautious around him for a few days - of course, he could - but getting worse over three weeks?

Three weeks was another thing altogether.

And then there was Tim.

His little brother had warmed up a bit, after a couple days, but the dynamic had taken on a whole new layer that he wasn't entirely pleased with.

Almost every day for weeks, he'd been subjected to blood tests, brain scans, tissue samples, asked to describe how the moon made him feel ("nothing, really. Just like the last six times you asked."), told to describe his senses ("I told you, I don't have increased senses. I notice sounds and smells more, but they're not actually stronger."), and was pretty much turned into a science fair project.

And while he was happy to let Tim help him figure out his new condition, the tests didn't actually do much to help. Evidence was found, but aside from the fact that it _had_ caused some chemical imbalances in his brain, they didn't have much to go on. Every other test had come back negative; every hypothesis unsupported.

So, even dealing with Tim kind of sucked, but both he and Barbara paled in comparison to Bruce.

Bruce had only gotten more aggressive since the change. He could feel the hatred roll off the man whenever they were in a room together. And, even though it had never been stated, Dick knew that Bruce now had him on lockdown, so even going back to his apartment wasn't an option.

After that argument in his room, Bruce had returned and told him - hissed, more like - that he didn't want him patrolling with the rest of them, and preferably not patrolling at all. Dick had only glared, but he hadn't been on patrol since then, so he supposed Bruce had won that round.

Aside from that, they hadn't spoken, which was fine with him.

Still sucked, though. He wished he could talk to someone about this. Normally, he'd go to Bruce, but obviously that bridge was burnt down. Barbara would normally be plan B, but he wasn't sure he could take any more of her staring wide-eyed at him, face as white as a ghost. And, as previously stated, he could tell he and Tim were no longer brothers, just the scientist and his pet project.

Alfred had been nice, he supposed. The man had treated him pretty normally the past few weeks, but it didn't help much. The Butler wasn't really the kind of person he could talk to. If he tried to express how isolated and generally confused he felt, the man would only reply with some sort of sage-yet-cryptic, fortune cookie-like advice. Less than helpful.

So, he was alone. No one to talk to. No one to hash things out with, emotionally. No one to help him deal with the pile of crap that had fallen on his shoulders once he was bitten.

He sniffed, sitting up and observing the night sky through his window.

He was alone. Drowning in fear and stifled by the walls.

But he didn't have to be.

He stood and stretched, joints popping into place. He knew what he would do.

 **A.N.: Please review and tell me what you think. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	3. Midnight and Morning

**Midnight and Morning**

 **A.N.: I changed this story from just a YJ fic to a RHATO/YJ crossover, mainly because I had a general direction I was going in for this story, and after binge-reading all the issues of RHATO online, it fit too well to pass up. Enjoy!**

Dick kept his hood low over his head, hoping to hide his face. It was almost midnight, so Batman was sure to be out and he was determined to avoid the man.

An acrid smell and the sound some someone exhaling drew his attention. A few yards away, some homeless circled around a fire in a trash can, warming their hands and smoking.

"Room for one more?" he nervously quipped as he drew nearer. The men glanced at him without a sound. They didn't run him off, though, so he dropped his duffel and warmed his hands with them.

"First night sleeping rough?" an old, white-bearded man at Dick's left deduced.

"Something like that," he replied.

"Then let us give you some advice," he said. "There's an alley on Chapel that's fairly well lit. Behind the church is a good place to sleep; if the Priest is feeling nice - which he usually is - he'll invite you in to spend the night, long as you're gone by morning."

"Don't count on it on Saturday nights, though," the man on Dick's right interjected, voice growling with wear. His skin was so dark that he almost blended into the night. "Sunday mass and all that."

"But if you have nice enough clothes, you can go in for the sermon. They usually have free food and coffee, just before."

"Also," the third man cut in, much younger than the other two, as he sounded in his mid-40s. "The over-50 community is a good place to go during the days. Not a lot of cops there and the older ladies will let you do chores for food or sometimes money."

"Noted," Dick replied, grateful for the words of support. "So, the police'll be easy enough to avoid," They all snorted at this. "But what about the Bat?"

The second guy shrugged. "He doesn't give anyone much trouble. Just behave yourself, and he won't pay you any mind."

"Okay," he said, nodding. "I never got your names, by the way."

"Eddie," The man on his left said. "And that's Bud-" The middle-aged man across from Dick waved. "-and Al." The man on the right smiled with a friendly nod.

Dick thanked them for the company and bade them farewell, hiking his backpack up his shoulders.

Questions of _'what if'_ were making his head spin.

 _What if this wasn't the best decision?_

 _What if I'm caught? Dragged back?_

 _What if I change around someone else?_

He gulped, turning a corner and ducking into a better-lit alley. Since Chapel Street was on the other side of the city, he settled for a spot he knew was less visited by Batman. Just for insurance, though, he opened the dumpster's lid and rested it against the wall, a barrier from rain, bugs, and most importantly: prying eyes.

Panic dripped into his stomach as the ' _what if'_ s started again.

 _What if I can't find food? Money?_

 _What if I get arrested? Who'll bail me out?_

He didn't know why he'd never thought of it, but the crushing realization that he had no real resources dropped, almost physically knocking the wind out of him.

He shook his head, putting the thoughts from his mind.

He found sleep, uneasy dreams taking hold of him.

* * *

Once Nightwing was no longer patrolling - Bruce had said he just didn't want to patrol with them, but Dick had been 'grounded' from it, Tim was sure - it became a typical sight for him to be finishing up his breakfast in the dining room by the time anyone else got down there. Alfred was the real morning person, but Dick was a close second, followed by Tim.

Hence why it immediately put him on edge when he came down into the dining room to find it empty, save for Alfred setting out pancakes and syrup.

"Did Dick come down, today?" he asked.

"Not that I am aware of, Master Tim," Alfred replied, setting out a third plate.

"Did he seem sick, yesterday?"

"Did you notice him acting sick?"

Tim sat and started piling pancakes onto his plate. "No, not really."

"Nor did I. Perhaps he is simply tired, or wanting to spare his energy. The full moon is next week, after all. If I understand correctly, such a thing requires quite a measure of strength."

Tim tipped his head; the old man was probably right: Dick was just resting. Odds were he was also trying to avoid everyone else. He knew they were treating him like he was unstable - Batgirl, especially - but they weren't sure what else to do.

For Dick, hiding was probably better than dealing with the rest of them.

Bruce came down five minutes later. Tim could tell he'd taken notice that Dick wasn't in the room, but he didn't comment on it. He sat, and they ate in silence.

"I'm gonna go check on Dick," Tim said, putting his plate and silverware into the sink. Bruce didn't comment on that, either.

His mind wandered as he navigated the hallways.

Dick had been okay with the testing, right? Oh, no, what if he hated him, now? Tim didn't want to lose the relationship he had with his brother.

Tim shook his head. _Of course_ he'd been okay with the testing. He'd consented to it, after all. He wouldn't have said "yes" if he hadn't been okay with it. Besides, he was only trying to help.

He looked up and saw the door. He knocked. No answer

"Dick?" he called, knocking again. Still no answer.

Finally, he opened the door, and a block of ice dropped into his stomach.

The room wasn't only empty, but stripped clean. His backpack was missing from the closet, as was anything that might've fit inside. A couple of books, a sleeping bag, his wallet, uniform, weapons…

The first thought that ran through his mind was that he'd been kidnapped, but that was almost immediately shot down. No kidnapper would take him out his room on the second floor, nor would they be so obsessive about closing the closet doors and making everything neat and tidy, nor would they bother to take anything.

There was only one other explanation.

Dick had run away.

His mind short-circuited as he slumped into the bed, absentmindedly opening the drawer on his nightstand. It used to so full of odds and ends that you could barely close it, but now it was only half-full with broken pieces of things and a stiff-backed bible at the bottom. The wingdings that he'd forgotten take out his pockets some days and the letter opener he'd "accidentally" shoplifted as a kid were gone.

Tim hated himself. He'd put his own brother under a microscope and treated him like a lab rat. He'd kept him at arm's length when it was the last thing he needed.

He was the reason Dick had left.

He wasn't sure how long it was until Bruce came looking for him, but eventually the man stepped into the room and settled next to him on the bed.

"It wasn't-"

"It was _entirely_ our fault," Tim cut him off. "We treated him like shit."

"He's probably back at his apartment. He's fine. Better off." With that, Bruce left.

He couldn't tell why, but Tim didn't think Dick had gone back to Bludhaven. Something just didn't sit right.

He mulled it over as he left the room as well, making sure to leave everything as it was.

 **A.N.: I wanted to cut this chapter short, so you'll see the other part in the next chapter, along with two characters from some relatively little-known comics. Let me know if you spot them!**

 **Speaking of spotting things, there were a couple of hints (not sure how subtle) as to the next chapter. What do you think will happen? Let me know! Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	4. Clerical Error

**Clerical Error**

 **A.N. this chapter was actually supposed to be part of the last chapter, but I wanted to procrastinate because of a scene I wasn't sure of. I want to preface this by saying that there is a part that is not only painful but possibly** **triggering** **. I'll include another warning immediately before and after, in case anyone wants to skip it. It's nothing violent, but it is an analogy to a** _ **real**_ **source of** _ **real**_ **emotional pain for** _ **real**_ **people, so I wanted to be sensitive to that. That being said, enjoy!**

Eddie had been right; The Holy Saint Paul Catholic Church was host to one of the best lit alleys (which wasn't saying a lot) in Gotham. It didn't smell like smoke to the extent that the other alleys did, and as far as he could see, no one else had set up for the night. Dick was glad: he'd already been jumped twice in the past two days, and he didn't need to punch someone's lights out, again, nor did he need Batman feeling the need to visit while patrolling and rushing to the scene. He'd already had a close call the night before, and he didn't fancy another.

He trudged closer, blessing himself – he wryly realized – for the first time in a decade, and zipped his hoodie to his neck, pulling the hood up after he sat, his back against the painted white bricks.

He crossed his arms and pulled his knees to his chest, releasing a slow breath in an attempt to calm down.

Footsteps entering the alleyway made him look up to spot a young girl, maybe seventeen, strutting forward and taking a seat beside him, white hair settling just below her jaw.

She took out what looked like a travel pamphlet to read, so Dick took the moment to eye her acid trip of a jacket; just looking at the wavy spots and neon colors made him dizzy. If he wasn't mistaken, he could've sworn he saw the patterns and colors moving, swirling. He shook his head, barely clearing the mental fog.

"What's this place called?" she asked, refusing to look away from the pamphlet. "And why isn't it in the book?"

"Holy Saint Paul Catholic Church," he rattled off. He cleared his throat, surprised at how scratchy it had become with secondhand smoke. "And that book doesn't have the addresses of every house in the city. Just the important ones."

"'Church'?" She cocked her head.

"A place for people to worship?" Dick furrowed his brows "To learn more about God?"

"It's a school?" she repeated, finally glancing at him with eyes the color of cinnamon. He nodded.

"In a way; sure. Kind of a…school for religion."

"Why isn't it important, then?" She flipped a page as she slouched further down the wall. Dick shrugged.

"It's not really _un_ important, just…not really a tourist attraction. Y'know?" She shook her head.

"No. On Meta, we have every building on travel cards, especially our place of faith."

"'Cards'?" he said.

"Holographic," she explained. "Do you know of any places I can learn more about _Life with Honey_?"

"Uhhh…"

"It's an Earth show, most popular one in the universe. I want to learn about one of the people in it."

"You…could try the library; there are some computers there that you could use." When she looked up at him, he tried to elaborate, but, for a brief moment, he felt that he was flying, the world in front of his eyes churning into a sea of colors as buildings bent. He shook his head. The feeling passed. "The-the building is two streets that way." He pointed back the way she'd come. "It's not open right now, but you can camp out behind it until morning."

"Thank you," she said, gracefully getting up from her near-laying position on the ground. The dizzy feeling left once she was out of sight and he had scooted away from the multicolored handprint she'd left behind.

He settled back against the stone walls, absentmindedly attempting to scratch an itch against it as he mulled over _Meta_.

He pushed the thought away; not his problem. Probably not even _a_ problem.

Above him, the moon was almost full. In a few days, it would be, and he'd have to change. He cringed when he realized he hadn't worked out what he'd do that night.

Maybe he'd break into the Gotham Zoo, tomorrow. Find a way into an empty pen; see if anyone might be put at risk. Even if he had to huddle in a cage half his size, it had to be safer than-

He stood up when a sound like a rocket drew his attention and a white flash raced over the building adjacent and vanished down the alleyway along the back of the church, never touching the ground. He'd taken a few running steps after it when he stopped himself.

'Not my problem,' he thought to himself. 'Not my circus, not my monkeys.'

"Can I help you?" Dick felt his face blanch at the sound of the Priest's voice behind him. Swallowing his fear, he turned to face the man – who was still dressed in clerical clothing, despite the late hour – and did his best to look like he wasn't a threat.

"Uh…yeah, um…" He stammered, feeling goosebumps prickle over his skin.

The man simply smiled and opened the door wider.

"Would you like to stay the night?" he asked, stepping aside. Dick nodded with a closed-lipped smile.

"Thank you, Father," he said, once he was closer. The both blessed themselves as they entered, Dick pulling his hood down and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Are you a Catholic?" the priest asked. "I haven't seen you at mass."

"Kind of," Dick replied. "It's been a while since I've been to mass."

"Would you like to take confession?"

"Sure," he said, feeling an urge to run like hell. "Uh, yeah. Thanks."

They stepped into the confessional, which smelled like wood, and sweat, and tears. He made the sign of the cross, and began.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been-" He took a deep breath, counting since the last time he'd done this. "Ten years since my last confession.

"I was raised with mixed religions. My father was Romani, but my mom was Roman Catholic. Eventually, she converted him, but I still grew up learning about all the different gods, but I only believed in the one God.

"But when they died, and I was adopted by an atheist, I kind of let my faith...sort of...atrophy. And I stopped living by the rules of the church.

"I began lying, stealing, hurting people - bad people, but still people - sometimes in anger. Several, I sent to the ICU, 'cause I was so _blind_ from rage."

"What was your intention in hurting them? Punishment for them, or to fill a void in yourself?" the priest asked.

"It was mostly out a sense of righteousness. I thought, by hurting them, I was helping others; that it was like a self-imposed penance. It wasn't until recently that I stopped, and even then, it wasn't by choice."

"So why did you stop?"

"I hurt some more people, emotionally. This time, people very close to me. I lied to them, and they found out about it at the worst possible time. One of them, my adopted father, was the guy who got me to start, and afterwards, he forced me to stop."

"Does he do this, himself?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's something of an obsession with him."

"Hmm. Go on."

"In addition to everything else, I started pursuing relationships with several women. Intimate relationships, none of which worked out. I guess I kind of knew it was wrong, and that was what caused them to go bad, but I just kept moving on to the next girl. Sometimes before breaking it off with the last girl."

"Adultery is a terrible sin," the priest reminded him. He nodded.

"Recently, I tried to see if I could maintain a relationship without intimacy, and it worked, for a while. But she was one of the people I ended up hurting."

"With your lie," the man concluded. "What lie did you tell, and what was your intention in telling it?"

"It was regarding my health, and I told it half out of fear, and half out of pride. I have a rare condition - so rare that it doesn't even have a name. She and my adopted brother and father saw me have a bad flare up. I never told them I had it, so I guess it kind of scared them."

Dick let out a long sigh. "Anyway, that's about it. All I can think of, anyway."

"Hmm," said the priest. "I believe you should apologize to the people you've hurt, as well as pray for guidance in your relationships, both with women and with the Lord. Mend that which you have broken. This will be your new, less destructive penance."

"Thank you, father," he replied, nodding. They got up at the same time, benches scraping against the floor and making Dick cringe. Truth be told, he was glad to get out of the cramped space and musty air. It felt too close. Too intrusive.

"There's space downstairs; unfortunately, you won't be alone. Someone else is staying the night," the priest lamented.

"It's fine," Dick insisted. "Thank you, again." The priest nodded and led him down a hallway towards the staircase.

 **(Potential trigger warning)**

"Father, what's your opinion on metahumans?" Dick asked.

"Metahumans?"

"Yeah. People with powers. Like Flash, Superman, Wonder Woman..."

"Hmm. Well, it is said that only God may perform miracles, and the feats which 'metahumans' perform certainly would be considered miracles. In addition, their acts cause harm to God's children, and invoke worship as idols. Therefore, they would be barred from heaven, until or unless they repent."

"What if their abilities are innate, though? What if they couldn't control it, or didn't choose it?"

"My dear child, we always have a choice in our behaviors and in our thoughts. Their mere existence doesn't damn them; their use of their abilities and the belief that they have the right to do so does."

Dick bit his tongue. "Thanks."

"Why do you ask?" the priest questioned with a tilt of his head. "Are you one?"

"No," he replied. "Just curious." **(End trigger warning)** The priest nodded, and they fell silent. The priest waved him into a room, and he set up his sleeping bag.

He crawled in, keeping his back to the man on the other side of the room.

He tried to keep track of time. He figured maybe an hour, maybe two, passed before he sighed and sat up, two things keeping him awake: the man's snoring, and the priest's words.

Was he going to Hell for being a werewolf? Did he still even believe in Hell? Should he have repented for it?

Would he even have been forgiven?

He didn't sleep well, that night.

* * *

The sun was still in the sky, but he could tell the moon was about to rise. Hence why Dick was hiding his bag near the brick fence post of "Ma Gunn's Home for the Criminally Infirmed."

He trudged towards the thick woods nearby, shedding his jacket just before the treeline, and everything else once he was further in.

Of all days for the zoo to have a "midnight wolf event," it just _had_ to be the full moon.

A shiver ran up his back as he felt a breeze, making him rub his arms as his eyes darted around to make sure there was no one to see.

A rustle several yards away drew his attention. A wolf stared from behind some trees with its teeth bared.

He was about to snarl back when a slice of pain up his spine made him scream and fall on his side. The animal whined and ran from the sound.

He groaned as the pain bled through his body, sharpening with every inhale. Hot tears fell down his face, and he felt a hot poker stabbed into his stomach.

He emptied his stomach - mostly bile - into the grass. The stench made him do it again. And again.

His head pounded as his smell and hearing sharpened. Behind him, dogs whined and scratched a glass door. In front: howls, long and loud. Call and response. A pack.

His chest burned as he started gaping like a fish. Shaky hands groped his searing neck, trying to find a pulse. He couldn't. All he could do was grit his teeth and cry.

A minute later, air filled his lungs and his mind clouded over. A ring of darkness encircled his world. It closed, and he was gone.

 **A.N.: To be clear, the Trigger Warning part was an analogy to homophobia. The priest believed, as many homophobes do, that someone with an innate trait that they (the priest) don't like must suppress themselves to be accepted by God.**

 **Next chapter officially introduces the Outlaws! Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	5. Lone Wolves

**Lone Wolves**

 **A.N.: Full disclosure: this is going to be a slight au. The two main differences are as follows: 1.) this does not follow the main storyline or timeline of RHATO, and 2.) Jason has dogs. I saw some fanart (I can't remember who the artist is. If anyone knows who made the art with jason and a german shepherd, please leave it in the reviews. I'll edit this chapter so everyone can see) and decided to make a spin on that, featuring my two dogs. Ginny is passed (hence why she's depicted as less active), but Sheba is my current dog.**

 **Edit: I copy and pasted the first draft of this chapter from google docs and something went horribly wrong. This is the hopefully more successful take two.**

 **Enjoy!**

The bed shook, waking Jason, who sighed. He realized he forgot to turn his swag off last night and woke up covered in bitches.

Dragging himself off the bed, he scratched Sheba behind the ears before pulling on a t shirt and dressing gown. The dogs strained against the door, desperate to get out.

He made his way downstairs as the dogs raced to the front door. He let them out and started brewing a cup of coffee to ease his early-morning headache as he waited for them finish their business.

But, they just kept. On. _Barking._

Rolling his eyes, he stepped out to see what the problem was. Both were stationed near the side of the fence, Sheba trying to stick her head out, Ginny howling like a mad dog.

Jason turned when he heard the door open again. Bizarro stepped out, looking confused.

"What am wrong, Red Him? Me heard dogs."

"Yeah, they're onto something," agreed Jason as he looked back at whatever it was the dogs were barking at.

"Me also heard screaming last night. Perhaps onto that?"

"Screaming?!" For a reason he couldn't describe, icy fear dropped into his stomach. He raced to the gate, Sheba on his heels and Ginny following behind, and unlocked it. Both dogs dashed out into the trees surrounding the building.

"Stay put," he told Bizarro before following after.

Dew froze his feet as he followed his pets.

The woods were fairly dense, he supposed. Definitely a decent place for a body dump. Maybe even a murder. Someone could've easily-

He stopped in his tracks when he finally caught up to the animals. They were pawing and nosing at something on the ground. Some sort of carcass, most likely.

Guard down, he trudged closer to get a proper look. He frowned as he realized the figure wasn't a carcass, but rather a mangled human body. Cuts and punctures bled over bruised skin, and wherever it wasn't bruised was white as a ghost. A mop of black hair turned crusty with blood where it wasn't being licked up.

As he made his way around to the front, his stomach dropped.

He pulled hair out of his brother's eyes, seeing a badly bleeding tear on his temple. Bloody vomit dribbled from Dick's mouth onto the ground. He swallowed and continued checking him over. Pulse: weak. Breathing: raspy. Temperature: sickeningly cold. Wrist: shattered.

Jason pulled off his dressing gown and wrapped it around him, tying it to tight for warmth. He held him close and carried him inside, dogs and Bizarro on his heels.

"Wake up Faye. Tell her my brother needs help. Fast."

"He am Red Him's brother?" Jason nodded.

He laid him on the couch, trying not to cringe when he reset Dick's broken wrist, and then splinted it with a magazine and some of Artemis's stray hair ties.

Footsteps entered the hall, leading to the lobby. Faintly, he heard Faye muttering something about being woken up, Bizarro trying to explain, and the third pair of footsteps were undoubtedly Artemis.

"What in the blazes did you do, Jason?" Ma nearly screeched as she entered, pulling a glove over her hand.

"I find him in the middle of the woods, immediately call for help, and you still think it's my fault?" he immediately shot back.

"Move over," she replied. He stepped around to the back of the couch, watching as as Artemis handed her disinfectant, suture needles, and thread from the first aid kit.

"What could have caused this?" Artemis wondered aloud.

"No idea," he said. "Could have been Joker - the cuts might fit his knife - but that doesn't explain why he isn't wearing anything."

"Based on the teeth marks, it was probably a wolf attack," Ma interjected, finishing the stitch on his face. "Jason?" Together, they rolled Dick onto his stomach, and she continued her work.

"Might not be his first attack either," she pointed out once she'd pulled the gown down over the back. Jason frowned at the scarred, tooth-like punctures.

The woman continued suturing in silence, finally standing up half an hour later.

"Stay with him, if you want," she said, pulling off her gloves. "Make sure he takes it slow, once he wakes up." Jason nodded, and she left, once again grumbling about her arthritis.

"So this is your brother?" Artemis asked, shooing Sheba away from licking the stitches.

"Yeah. We haven't talked in a while, though."

"Why Red Him not talk to Red Brother?" Bizarro cocked his head, sounding heartbroken.

Jason sighed, tracing a stitch on his brother's shoulder. "It's complicated," he admitted. "He was part of a team which I wasn't allowed to join; I was jealous; we didn't talk much. Then, he moved out, and we stopped entirely."

"Will Red Brother live with us?"

"I don't know. Listen, I'm sorry for waking the both of you. Go back to bed. I'm the only one he knows; I'll stay until he wakes up."

They left, Artemis throwing a look at him before walking out. Sheba returned to lick the blood out of Dick's hair, Ginny laying beside her. He shifted Dick into the recovery position before padding into the kitchen for his coffee.

A couple hours passed until he heard a low groan and Dick moved on the couch. A second later, he threw a hand out and started frantically groping for something. The second Jason handed him the trash can, he was spewing putrid bile into it, again and again and again, until all he could do was dry heave and shake like a leaf.

He pulled the can away just as he started groggily taking in the room. Jason knelt down to eye level, much to Sheba's protest.

"Dick," he started, and the man locked eyes on him. He seemed to relax with a sigh.

"Hey, Jason," he said. "Where am I?"

"Short answer: Ma Gunn's home for the criminally infirmed."

"And the-" his breath hitched as he tried to sit up. Failing that, he held his ribs and laid down again. "-long answer?"

"Also: my and my team - well, kind-of-team's - house."

"Hm. How'd I get here?"

"The dogs found you in the woods, covered in injuries. We brought you in, and Ma Gunn - remember her? - fixed you up. You had 50 stitches in total. What happened to you?" Dick shrugged and winced.

"Don't remember."

"How can you not remember?!" Jason exasperated. Dick was about to respond, but then turned downright _green_ , and had his head in the trash again.

"Long story," he replied.

Jason deflated. "Stay here and rest. Is there anything else you need?"

"There should be a backpack near the right post on the front gate. Bring it in for me?"

"I'll get it," Jason replied. "You sleep."

 **A.N.: So, short chapter, I'll admit. I wanted to get it done so I can treat you guys. I've been absent for a while, and there's no excuse. Leave your thoughts and ideas in a review and I'll see if I can incorporate them! Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	6. The Sick and Dying

**The Sick and Dying**

 **A.N.: Sorry this is so late. I've had writer's block out the wazoo. Enjoy, nonetheless!**

Dick hadn't been on the street for too long. A week, really. Still, a couch in a warm house was definitely a nice change from concrete or church floors.

 _THUD!_

Unless, of course, someone was really, _really_ mad at you. Then, those floors were pretty nice.

"Alright, spill, Grayson." Loop pile carpets, heaters, if you're lucky…

"Dick," At least he didn't sound angry, anymore. "Look at me. I know you're awake."

Begrudgingly, he opened his eyes to see jason sitting on the coffee table, his backpack, open beside him.

"Bruce just called and asked if I'd seen you. He told me to keep you locked up, if I did."

"What'd you tell him?" he groaned, examining the metal splint on his wrist.

"That I'd keep an eye out." Dick breathed a painful sigh of relief. "Dick, what happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why are you living on the streets? Why did Bruce tell me you keep you caged? And why in Hell did I find you naked in the woods?"

Dick dragged himself up on his right hand so he could sit against the arm of the couch, clenching his teeth.

"Would you believe I was at a rave?"

"No."

"Kidnapped by pirates?"

"Dick, I'm serious." The tone of his voice, short and clipped, gave him pause and made him hang his head.

"Alright. I'm a werewolf," he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal.

Jason, of course, rolled his eyes. "If you're just gonna-"

"I'm for real, Jay. Last night was a full moon, and I didn't have anywhere else to go. I figured it was at least safe to change out there."

"Looks like you were wrong." Jason sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, reeling himself in. "Alright...alright, so let's _say_ I believe you; how does that lead into you being homeless?"

"Bruce found out I was hiding it from him and all but kicked me out."

"How'd he find out?"

"Changed in front of him. He freaked out, benched me indefinitely, and stopped talking to me. I left, but it was pretty clear he wanted me out."

Jason nodded, looking down at the floor. "Alright. You can stay here, at least for now."

Dick breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, man."

Jason nodded absentmindedly. "So, what do we do about your wrist? If you change next month, it won't be healed by then, which might end up breaking it more."

"I'm more concerned about location. There's a pack of wolves, outside, so that's a no-go. Anywhere else would be too close to the city."

"I don't know, man. We'll cross those bridges when we get to them." He stood up with a deep sigh. "Get back to sleep. When you feel well enough, get dressed and pick a room. The whole upper floor and most of this one is free." Dick nodded, wincing as he dragged himself back into lying on his side.

The first three bedrooms on the first floor were taken, obviously. He only needed to see the scrawling crayon for Bizarro's room, neat label for 'Artemis' (if it was the Artemis he was thinking of, maybe it wasn't so taken, but he wasn't taking chances), and dripping, red spray paint of Jason's name and helmet to know it.

He wasn't taking chances on the next few rooms, either. He was too dangerous to risk changing near anyone, just in case he broke down the door.

He was just about to pass a door halfway down the hall when he heard the faint beeping of an ECG behind it. His curiosity got the better of him.

He had to admit, it was a shock to see Black Mask like this, wearing a hospital gown and laying, motionless, in a bed. His eyes were open, watching him, but he didn't make any motion to do anything.

Still, maybe it was best to find a room on the other side of the building.

 **A.N.: Sorry to end it like this, but I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer than you had to. Great news, however: I've gotten a FictionPress account. I'm still TheInvisibleGurlz, so check me out there. I already have one piece up, and there will be more in the future. I also keep my facebook page active, so you can find that, too. Thank you for your time.**


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